


two bros chilling on a bed, nearly naked cause they're clearly gay

by wentzgold



Category: Fall Out Boy, Peterick - Fandom
Genre: Blowjobs, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Smut, Summer, handjobs, heat - Freeform, sweaty boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 11:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20563535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wentzgold/pseuds/wentzgold
Summary: Pete stares at Patrick, who is perspiring like a dog, a visible sheen of sweat coating his forehead and dotting his nose, but still with his sweatpantsandt-shirt on.“Why do you still have so many layers on? Take em off, it’s not worth suffering,” Pete frowns at him. “Lose the sweatpants.”Patrick huffs, and Pete can see his reluctance wavering as sunlight blazes through the window.





	two bros chilling on a bed, nearly naked cause they're clearly gay

“Jesus,” Pete groans, “it’s so, so, so hot!” His t-shirt is stuck to his back, soaked with sweat even though he’s already taken off his jeans. He proceeds to peel his shirt off, flinging it aside and lounging out onto the bed in just boxers. 

“Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious.” Patrick replies, sitting on the other side of the bed and gulping down his sixth glass of iced lemonade. A little bit of it dribbles down his chin, and Pete’s eyes follow the movement. “It just _has_ to be sweltering the day there’s a power outage, it feels like fifty degrees out.” 

And it did. Pete feels like he’s sitting in an oven even though it’s just Patrick’s house, the both of them waiting rather impatiently for their parents to return with help. It’s probably hopeless, the whole neighbourhood’s electricity has been cut off.

Pete stares at Patrick, who is perspiring like a dog, a visible sheen of sweat coating his forehead and dotting his nose, but still with his sweatpants _and_ t-shirt on. 

“Why do you still have so many layers on? Take em off, it’s not worth suffering,” Pete frowns at him. “Lose the sweatpants.” 

Patrick huffs, and Pete can see his reluctance wavering as sunlight blazes through the window. The windows have been thrown wide open so wind could blow in, but the air’s been still since morning and nothing but heat has come through that window. He knows Patrick won’t take his shirt off, so he doesn’t even bother suggesting it.

He doesn’t expect Patrick to listen, or to react, even, because Patrick’s not the type to just undress so easily. 

But Patrick sets down his glass of lemonade, tilts his head a little as if he’s actually considering it. He could always just change into shorts, Pete thinks, but he’s not going to tell Patrick that, he just might not take his pants off if Pete does tell him. 

“Y’know, that’s not a bad idea.”

Did Pete hear that right?

And slowly, finally, Patrick’s undoing the strings of his gray sweatpants, sliding them down the unmarked fullness of his thighs and leaving them on the floor by the bed. He crosses his legs in front of him. 

Pete’s staring. He’s never even seen past three inches of Patrick’s skin above the knee, and now it’s all on display, all smooth and cream-pale thighs that Pete suddenly wants to leave bruises on, to touch and kiss and-

“Uhhh….Pete? You alright?” Patrick asks hesitantly. Pete snaps out of his trance, cheeks flaming up as he realises that he’d just been staring at his best friend's legs for god knows how long.

“Yeah. It’s just, um, just that…” shit, Pete needs an excuse quick, “Your Batman boxers are really cool. Where’d you get them? I love Batman. Hey, I should get them too, then we can match underwear!” 

Match underwear? Fuck! Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

“Huh.” Patricks lips twitch, and before Pete knows what’s going on, Patricks tugging on his shirt, and _ohmygod this isn’t real Pete’s having a wet dream_\- pulling it over his head excrutiatingly slowly. Pete’s eyes trail over the porcelain skin revealed, from Patrick’s plush, pink bottom lip down to his chest, the dewdrops of sweat dotting across it, to the soft, smooth curves of his stomach, like a blank canvas waiting to be marked by Pete. 

God, he’s so, so fucked.

“What are you doing?” Pete silently asks, because this behaviour isn’t like Patrick at all. 

“You’re right, I should lose some layers. So,” Patrick shrugs, cool and casual about the whole thing like they aren’t two guys sitting on a bed in nothing but their boxers right now. No homo.

Suddenly Pete feels awkward and fidgety, because it’s _Patrick_ and there’s _so much_ pretty pretty snow smooth skin in front of Pete, he doesn’t trust himself to not do something he’ll regret later. 

Unfortunately, Pete’s thinking with his dick and not his brain right now.

So he scoots closer to Patrick’s side, until their shoulders are touching, and as casually as possible, asks, “Have you kissed any guys, Patrick?”

Patrick doesn’t respond, but his breathing’s gotten a little louder, a little more irregular, and Pete dares himself to slide down and lay his head in Patrick’s _glorious_ naked lap, to turn his head and look up at Patrick. He sees beads of sweat rolling down Patrick’s stomach, and resists the urge to lick them away.

“Hmm, have you?” Pete hums, peering up through dark lashes, and his voice almost breaks when- _holy shit_, he can feel something poking him in the back of his head. Patrick’s popping a fucking bone-

“Yeah,” Patrick replies, and Pete’s stomach drops, “but it wasn’t any good.”

Knots tighten in Pete’s gut when he thinks of someone else, someone else’s lips on Patrick’s pretty pink ones, someone else’s tongue licking its way into Patrick’s mouth. “Want me to make it better?” The words are tumbling out of Pete’s mouth before he can think, and he doesn’t know how Patrick’s going to react, if he’s gonna freak out or stop being friends with Pete or _actually kiss him_. 

He’s sure he’s dreaming when Patrick places a hand between Pete’s shoulder blades and guides him into a sitting position, thighs bracketing Patrick’s hips. Patrick leans in, breath ghosting over Pete’s parted lips.

“Why….” Patrick swipes his tongue over his lips, leaving them pink and shiny, “do you think I took my shirt off, idiot?”

And it’s Patrick that makes the first move, tilts Pete’s chin up and kisses him with a little bit of uncertainty, like he’s expecting Pete to pull away any moment. Pete instantly kisses back with enthusiasm. It’s tender, sweet, almost innocent, until Patrick runs his tongue along Pete’s bottom lip, and- oh, shit, it transforms into something deeper, dirtier, slick with spit as Patrick _shudders_ when Pete’s tongue slides against his own, a small, breathy moan escaping his lips. 

If Pete’s gonna get to hear more of those sweet little noises Patrick makes, he’s sure as hell continuing. 

Patrick’s head hits the headboard with a light _thunk_ as Pete presses his shoulders down with calloused fingers, slender hips pushing forward to meet the other boy’s. Patrick’s jaw falls slack at the sensation and rocks his hips back in time, stuttering occasionally to groan out intangible words that seemed mostly seemed to end with -uck.

Patrick trails his fingers over Pete’s cheeks and grips his jaw firmly, leaving a trail that seems to burn into Pete’s skin. Pete’s jaw is mostly smooth, with bare hints of stubble. They don’t stop rocking against each other, even when Patrick stares hard at Pete, bottom lip snagged between his teeth and sweat-dotted eyebrows furrowed.

“Is this a one-time thing? I’m not a pity fuck, right?” Patrick’s voice comes out rougher than usual, and Pete knows there’s uncertainty in there, nervousness that he’s trying to hide. Pete knows Patrick’s never gotten this far with a guy ever in his sweet little life. 

“No,” Pete grunts, “unless you want it to be.” At this, he hooks a finger around the waistband of Patrick’s infuriating Batman boxers, runs a finger along it before pulling them down, and woah, Patrick’s just so _obedient_, already scrambling to kick them off. Pete makes quick work of his own boxers to the pile of their other clothes, and turns his attention back to the sight before him.

_Fuck_, it’s the most beautiful thing Pete’s ever seen, and Pete’s fucked tons of pretty boys and girls alike. Patrick’s sprawled out naked on the dark blue bedsheets, his pale skin providing a stark contrast. His head’s thrown back, strawberry-blonde hair tousled and cheeks flushed pink, back arched upwards and legs spread, thrusting into his fist. Pete’s not even lying when he says that Patrick’s dick is seriously _nice-looking_, a good average size, cherry red at the tip and framed by coarse copper-coloured curls. 

Ravishing. Pete crawls between Patrick’s milky thighs, runs feather-light touches over before bending down and grazing his teeth along them, sucking sweet, blossoming marks onto the blank canvas that is Patrick’s delicate skin. 

“Pete!” Patrick whines, “please, c’mon.” 

Pete knows Patrick’s talking about his erection, achingly hard and leaking, which Pete’s doing positively nothing to take care of. Pete’s ignoring his own dick for once, he wants this to be good for Patrick, wants him to have the best possible experience.

“Please what?” Pete growls. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” Patrick babbles, “Anything, do whatever you like to me, just _fucking please!_” 

Pete doesn’t waste another second, lowers himself and gives the tip of Patrick’s cock a tentative lick, salty pre-come slick on his tongue. Patrick’s gripping on Pete’s hair, his other hand fisted in the sheets, jaw slack and eyes clouded with lust and need, peering down at Pete. 

Pete maintains eye contact, wraps his lips around Patrick’s pretty cock and slides down, down, until his nose hits the musky curls at the base, breathes in the scent of shower gel and sex. He presses his tongue along the underside of Patrick’s cock, trails it slowly upwards from the base, giving it a flick at the tip, eliciting a strangled cry from Patrick. 

Pete’s gives his best performance, pulls out all the tricks he knows to make Patrick a whimpering, moaning mess, practically melting under Pete. He runs his fingers lightly over Patrick’s balls, looks for the spot right where it feels so good and presses gently. His tongue flicks one last time, before… “Fuck, fuck! So close, Pete!” Patrick groans, and, much to Patrick’s protest, Pete pulls off with an obscene wet sound.

“No. Don’t, not yet. Get on all fours.” Pete demands, mildly surprised when Patrick actually manages to holds it in and follows his orders, although his cock is throbbing and practically pleading to come. 

He gives Patrick’s pert little ass a light smack before he spreads Patrick’s cheeks open, dipping his fingers in just slightly. Patrick hisses, and he’s expecting Pete’s fingers to find their way to his hole but instead- “Oh, fuck! Fuck!” Patrick mewls, he’s sure he sounds pathetic right now but couldn’t care less when the warm wetness of Pete’s tongue is prodding against his hole. 

“This alright? Next time, next time I swear I’ll fuck you, but this’ll have to do for now.” Pete notes the lack of both lube and condoms right now. 

Patrick throws his head back. “God, yes! Don’t fucking stop!”

So Pete doesn’t, delves his tongue into the pink pucker with bold strokes, deftly licks and thrusts his tongue in and out of Patrick, opening him up with every movement of his tongue. Patrick’s pushing back on Pete’s face now, and god, it’s so hot to hear him so broken and far gone like this. Spit dribbles down Pete’s chin, and it’s not long before he growls, “You’re allowed.” 

Pete reaches out to jerk Patrick through it, but Patrick’s already lifting his hips off the bed, eyes half-lidded and the _filthiest_ noise leaving his lips. All Patrick can feel is bliss as he comes, hot, white ribbons splurting out onto the dark sheets. 

They lie down next to each other, and Patrick reaches over to give some attention to Pete too, and all it takes is a few lazy strokes to push Pete over the edge with a grunt and a shove of his hips into Patrick’s palm. There’s a few seconds of awkwardness before Patrick scoots over and tucks his face into the crook of Pete’s neck, and it should be disgusting because there’s sweat and come and it’s so fucking sticky everywhere. Patrick should really be getting a washcloth to clean up, but at this moment, it feels soft and intimate.

“Does this mean we’re…” Patrick struggles to find the words for it, “uh…are we ‘a thing’ now?”

Pete chuckles and ruffles Patrick’s hair. “Yeah, I'm gonna get to call you my boyfriend every day. We're gonna go on cute little dates and kiss on ferris wheels and do all the romantic shit couples do. If you want to, of course.” 

“I want to.” Patrick replies, just as Pete leans down to kiss him on the forehead. 

Pete opens his mouth to say something else... and just stops. Patrick looks up at him quizzically when Pete stops talking abruptly, eyes widening almost comically and mouth hanging open. Patrick would’ve laughed, if not for Pete looking so goddamned serious and shocked.

“Boys? We’re home!” comes Patricia Stumph’s voice from downstairs.

_Fuck!_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! this was my first time writing smut so i apologise if it wasn't good! if you enjoyed it however, please do leave kudos and/or comments, i really appreciate it :-)


End file.
